Read Online The Avenger 13 - Murder on Wheels by Kenneth Robeson - Free Book Online Page B

room?”
    “I happened to be in the next room, rented by a friend of mine. I heard through the bathroom wall. Heard them call each other MacMurdie and Newton; so I knew their names. Then I heard some men come in after one had knocked and MacMurdie had opened the door. There was a fight, and I heard one of the strangers say they’d take them to Wesley’s boarded-up home at Cass Lake. Just before that, I’d heard Newton mention that you were coming. So I came in here—the door was open—and waited.”
    “Why didn’t you come to their aid when you heard the fighting?” said Benson.
    The young fellow moistened his lips.
    “I . . . I guess I’m kind of a coward. I admit it. I was afraid.”
    “Why didn’t you notify the police afterward?”
    “I thought you might prefer to handle it in your own way,” said the man. “I’ve heard of you, Mr. Benson, and you are, it seems, a sort of one-man police force all by yourself.”
    The Avenger’s face was as expressionless as glacier ice.
    “What’s your name and where can we reach you later?”
    “I’m Cole Wilson,” said the man. “And I live at the Shelton Arms, on Jefferson Avenue—”
    The Avenger’s eyes were cold and piercing, but his dead, white face was as unreadable as always. Without a word, he left the room.
    Outside, he met Smitty as the giant stepped from the elevator.
    “Mac and Josh are not here,” Benson said. “A man there—he says his name is Wilson—claims he heard some men enter the room, overpower then and say that they would be taken to Cass Lake, outside the city.”
    “Then let’s go,” growled Smitty. “We’ll—”
    “Wait!” The Avenger said, leading Smitty to the stairs. He seemed to prefer the stairs to the elevator, at the moment. “Stop here. After a few minutes go back to the room and wait. I’ll trail this man, Wilson.”
    “Huh?” said Smitty, stopping on the landing, two floors down.
    “He overheard Josh and Mac calling each other Newton and MacMurdie, so he knew their names,” said Benson. “But—they never call each other anything but Mac and Josh. Also, there was a disturbed look in parts of the room: Wilson was in there searching the place when I knocked, and he decided it was good policy to open the door frankly—and pull that line. He doesn’t know anything about Mac and Josh, or where they are. He’s a fake. And I want to trail him and see what he does.”
    Smitty looked as if it were taking all his self-control to keep from going back to the room and taking this guy, Wilson, apart.
    “What did Nellie say,” asked Benson.
    “She traced that crackpot, Willis—but too late. She got a report that he’d boarded a train and was headed west.”
    The giant spoke as if the words meant a complete blank on the Willis angle. But tiny points of light flared in the depths of Dick Benson’s pale, colorless eyes. From those few words, he had gained a bit of valuable information concerning Will Willis.
    Benson went on down the stairs, and out to the street, slipping unobtrusively through the crowded lobby.
    In about six minutes he saw Cole Wilson emerge.
    Wilson walked in leisurely fashion to a low-priced but excellent sedan and got in. He started off, and Benson followed in a cab.
    The Avenger was well acquainted with Detroit as he was with all the principal cities. The sedan ahead hadn’t gone far when he divined where it was bound for—Grosse Pointe, the exclusive suburban section holding the expensive homes of the biggest automobile magnates.
    And Benson knew who owned the great house in front of which Wilson’s sedan finally stopped: Sigmund Ormsdale, president of Ormsdale Motors.
    Wilson was just going into the door when The Avenger had his driver stop the cab, some distance away. Benson went to the door, too.
    He hadn’t a chance to ring the bell. For just as he got there, Wilson showed up again, coming out—and coming out fast.
    “Benson!” he exclaimed, looking surprised, but not at all